Deathbed (Dovetail Cove, 1971) (Dovetail Cove Series) by McIntyre Jason

Author:McIntyre, Jason [McIntyre, Jason]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: The Farthest Reaches
Published: 2016-12-15T05:00:00+00:00

4.

I found Ketwood up on One. He had stumbled across one of the coffee rooms. I spotted his location by the rolling wagon and tidy pile of toolboxes up next to the doorway in the corridor.

I remember the cold sweat of relief at seeing that stack.

Inside, Ketwood was stirring a cup of coffee for himself. His boy was supping from a paper cone filled from the water cooler. They sat across from each other at one of the big cafeteria-style tables the government likely has in every facility from here to the east coast. The walkie I’d given Ketwood was on the table next to a couple empty packets of sugar.

Intentionally slow, I sauntered over to the table as Ketwood deliberately took no notice of me. I did this to catch my breath. I did this to keep my temper checked. I tapped the walkie’s ribbed speaker with my index fingernail. “Channel Eleven,” I said. “But you have it turned off.”

Ketwood tilted up at me, as if he was just coming awake with a hangover and couldn’t care less that anyone was still in bed with him by morning.

“Remember when I said ‘Don’t wander off’?”

Ketwood leaned back. He reached out and snagged a lit cigarette from the ashtray near his borrowed coffee cup. He took a drag as he pushed himself back from the table, a man who looked like he’d just finished Thanksgiving dinner and was getting ready to pop the button on his trousers.

He said nothing. Just stared at me.

“Fine,” I said. “All good. Now then—” I looked around at the boy who stared at me wide-eyed over his paper cone but also saying nothing. “Did you finish up?”

“We did,” Sam Ketwood said, again looking out the window towards the road and the security gate where his van sat. “All done and ready to go.”

“Good,” I said. “That’s my boss’s coffee mug.” He looked unperturbed, only sipped from the mug that said, “I love a man with a PhD” on the side. Only the ‘love’ was a red heart, now faded from repeated washings. Ketwood’s kid piped up. “Oh, Dad,” he said.

Ketwood put Drumheller’s mug down and looked at the boy.

“I’m pretty sure I left the wire-stripper in the bottom of the panel. Sorry—” the kid said.

“The good one?” Ketwood said.

The boy looked at me then back at his dad. “I-I think so.”

Again, I expected that veneer of his to crack and fall away. I expected him to yell at the boy, maybe something about how irresponsible and stupid it was to leave one of their valuable tools behind on a restricted level of a government power facility.

Instead, Ketwood got up slowly. He set the doctor’s coffee mug down and then stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray. “Munn?” he asked. “Can you take my son back down to get what he forgot? I don’t imagine it would take more than a few minutes. I’m sure he’s sorry for the inconvenience.” He didn’t glare at the boy like this was something they would ‘talk’ about later.

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